Silent Hill: Impetus of Woe
by JonWilhoit
Summary: With five simple words, John Burke's mother sent his world into a chaotic whirlwind where secrets of the past finally come to light. Goodbye John. I love you . . . NO PLANS TO COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

(A/N: Sorry this took so long in coming out, but I felt my original edition needed a revision, and I think that this one definately worked out well. Please give me any feedback you can, and thanks for reading!)

Silent Hill: Impetus of Woe

When I moved to New York, I thought I had it made. I thought that finally my life would be complete. At the age of twenty-three I had a good job, a steady girlfriend, and a fulfilling social life. What's more, it was all of my own making. I thought I had finally outrun the unknowns of my past.

But for some reason, I couldn't leave it all behind me. I should have been living in the present. I should have been content with what I had. God knows I had it a whole helluva lot better than a lot of people around the world, but still I couldn't be happy. The past haunted me—not for anything I did, but everything I didn't know. I knew nothing about my relatives, nothing about their lives, nothing except a name, a name that became the crux of my shattered past: Silent Hill.

Mom never would talk about it much other than to say that was where she grew up. I never liked pressing her on the subject because it always seemed like the very name made her cringe. Sometimes I would come home to find her crying for no reason. When I asked about it, she always told me it was nothing, that sometimes she just liked to have a good cry. I let it go, but I never quite believed her. For some reason, I always thought it had something to do with that town. I don't know why. I guess kids can be more perceptive than we give them credit for.

As for my dad . . . well, I never knew him, so that one was a dead end from the very beginning. Mom never told me much about him either, just said he was "gone to a better place," whatever the hell that meant. I always figured she meant he was dead or something, but she did never say for sure.

But like I said, I tried to put all of that stuff behind me. I guess I thought that by focusing on goals and other inconsequential crap in the present, I could minimize the importance of the past. It never worked though, but I'm sure you know how that is. The past has always has way of catching up to the present.

I know how cliché it sounds, but it all started with a phone call.

Around four thirty on a Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk impatiently waiting for five o'clock to roll around. I just wanted to cut out of work, go home, and relax for the weekend. But as you can probably tell by now, that wasn't meant to be. I was in the process of filling out my time card when the phone rang. At first I thought about just letting the answering service pick it up. I was in no mood to talk with another irate investor when I could call him back in the morning. I wanted to just leave it alone. But I didn't. To this day, I still don't know why, but I just couldn't leave that damn phone alone.

Despite my misgivings, I picked up the receiver, holding it to my ear. "Afternoon, Pierce Brokering. John Burke speaking, how may I help you?"

"John?" a familiar voice quaked on the other end.

Alarm bells went off inside my head. "Mom? Mom, is that you? What's the matter?"

"It has me, John. I have to go back."

"What has you?" I asked, a sudden fear lurching in the pit of my stomach. "Mom, are you ok?"

"I have to," she said, her voice a soft murmur.

"Have to do what? Mom, what are you talking about? Where are you?"

The answer came in a hoarse whisper, "Silent Hill."

"What? Why?"

"I have to go, John."

"Mom, answer me!" I shouted desperately.

"I love you. Goodbye."

"No, wait!" I protested, but she was already gone.

----------

You can't imagine how that vague phone call shook me up. At that moment, I wanted to run to my mother, to wrap her in a comforting embrace like a child that had just woken from a bad dream—like she had done for me so many times in the past. A thousand questions were running through my mind, and even after hours mulling over the subject, I ended up with the very same two words I had started with: Silent Hill.

In my haste to get out of New York, I didn't take the time to tell anyone where I was going. Hell, I didn't even go home to pack. I just jumped in my car and headed for the airport. In retrospect, it was one of the stupider things I've ever done, but there's nothing I can really do about it now. As it was, I left with nothing but the clothes on my back, an mp3 player, and my cell phone.

I hopped the earliest flight I could out of Dulles into Chicago's O'Hare International and was back on the ground again by 7:30. Even then, my case of "the dumbass" hadn't abated, and I foolishly neglected to take the time to get a rental car. Instead I hopped an airport taxi and paid the driver an exorbitant fee for him to take me on the hour-long trip into Silent Hill. He didn't seem too thrilled about going to that place, but with the amount of money I paid him, he decided to make an exception.

About forty-five minutes into the trip, I realized I probably should have told somebody where I was going, so I tried to call my girlfriend Stacey on my cell phone, but as far as we were down the road, I couldn't get any reception on the damn thing. So instead I simply sighed and slouched down in my seat. I watched as the rural countryside bled by us, merging into a generic scene of pastoral monotony as the two-lane highway we were on stretched out interminably into the darkness.

I slipped my headphones over my ears and tried to absorb myself in the music—to forget my fear and worry, if only for a few minutes.

The rumble of the taxi's engine died away as the music took hold. Bob Seger's voice came the headset, his smokey voice singing about that "lonely lonesome highway." A light fog seemed to drift across the landscape, accompanied by the eerie wail of the guitars. I closed my eyes and shut myself off from the outside world, paying attention to nothing but they rhythmic thrumming in my ears.

As the guitars faded, and the baseline quieted a murmur, Seger's voice came in again, this time barely above a whisper.

"_Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed,_

_The echoes of the amplifiesr ringing in your head,_

_Smoke the day's last cigarette, _

_And remember what she said . . ._"

But the song didn't pick up in tempo as it usually did. Instead, it slowly faded into nothingness as my headphones went dead. I opened my eyes and glanced down at my mp3 player to see its display winking at me to announce a low battery charge.

I gave a sigh as the moment of synergy faded and pushed the headphones down to dangle around my neck.

My driver glanced up at me in the rear-view mirror. "Something wrong there chief?"

I shook my head, "Nah, my mp3 player just died."

He shrugged, "Well, we're almost there anyway."

I glanced out the window, noticing that the light fog from before had thickened considerably. Ahead of us, a beaten road sign loomed out of the mist. "_Silent Hill – 3 miles."_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The road before me simply dead ended into an over-grown wilderness, while behind, the taxi's tail lights were quickly receding into the fog. It was like someone had started to expand the road, but stopped halfway through preparations and let nature take its course once more. The only sign of civilization evident in the area was a section of broken parking lot and a small cinderblock tenement with peeling green paint and a sign that proclaimed _restroom_ in fading black letters.

With nowhere else to go, I heaved a sigh and headed across the crumbling pavement toward the building. I was about to try the door to the men's bathroom, when a glimmer of light caught my eye.

I turned, looking off past the restroom to see a faint ray of light flickering through the fog. I'm not quite sure why, but the faint illumination in so desolate an area intrigued me. A frown creased my brow as I moved toward the curious light, heading into another section of broken parking lot previously hidden by the mist. After a few steps, a shape loomed out of the fog. It was a car--a silver Toyota sedan, and one that I had seen before. It belonged to my mother.

I broke into a jog over to the vehicle, but what I saw next gave me pause. Beyond the car, I spied what had been giving off that light: a dilapidated phone booth, the anemic light above it wavering with a staccato flicker. Graffiti covered the glass, and the receiver was off the hook, swaying slowly back and forth beneath the decrepit booth.

My heart leapt into my throat at the sight as my mind reeled over the implications. I hastened to get around the car and headed closer to the booth, but as I drew nearer, a sudden sense of dread seized upon me. Scrawled in red upon the glass were two simple words: _I'm sorry._

I stumbled forward, hoping that it wasn't written in what I thought it was. My fingers brushed against the glass, coming away red and sticky. But it wasn't blood, not even close. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized what it was: lipstick.

That relief faded quickly, however, as I pondered just what the hell the message meant. It was almost like that phone call all over again—too vague to draw any solid details out of it, but just enough to reel me in. I shook my head in frustration and turned back toward the car.

But then the phone's receiver sputtered in a fit of soft static. Turning to look down at the still-swaying handset, I remember thinking that it must have been broken, just like the rest of that abandoned place. But as I started to turn away again, a faint voice reached my ears over the static.

"John?"

I lurched for the receiver, fumbling with it a moment before bringing it to my ear. "Mom? Mom, is that you?"

There was a sigh on the other end, and then a click before the line went dead.

The sudden influx of hope drained from my body as quickly as it had arrived. I sighed, letting the phone slip from my grasp. It clattered against the base of the booth as I leaned back on the hood of the car, massaging my temples in crestfallen frustration.

It simply didn't make sense. None of it did. The more I tried to wrap my mind around the events of the past few hours, the more confused I got. The phone call, the lipstick message, the phone booth, none of it made sense. Hell, the whole place didn't make any sense. Why didn't the road continue on into town? Why was there even a rest stop so close? Why the hell wasn't there anybody around? It was like a freaking ghost town, and the more I thought about it, the more uneasy I got about the whole situation. I actually contemplated just heading back down the road and leaving that God forsaken place. I just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

I turned back to the car, thinking that if nothing else, maybe I could hotwire it and be on my way. It was a long shot, but I could at least make an effort. When I tried the door, it opened quite easily, which actually surprised me a little. Mom was never the trusting kind when it came to strangers, so she would always lock her doors before she left, even if just for a few seconds. Why the car would be unlocked here, of all places, was a mystery to me. What surprised me even more though, was the fact that her keys were still dangling from the ignition slot.

I frowned and slid into the driver's seat, slipping my hand around the key to give it a good turn. There was a soft whine, and then nothing. The battery was dead.

I sighed and turned away, inadvertently meeting my own gaze in the rear view mirror. I was shocked by my complexion: pale, sallow, sickly even. A layer of stubble covered my thin face, and the whites of my eyes were bloodshot. My hair was ruffled, my suit rumpled, and my tie loose around my neck, looking as though I'd just awakened from a hard night of binge drinking. I looked awful, a shadow of the man that had left his New York office just hours before. What had happened to me? What was I doing here?

I sighed and leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes as I tried to figure out what I was going to do.

But really there was nothing else I _could_ do. I couldn't leave, not without Mom. I didn't know a damn thing about this town, or what was going on, or even where the hell I was, but I _did_ know she needed me. I couldn't leave her.

I steeled my resolve and leaned forward to the glove compartment, hoping to find a clue as to where my mother had gone, or perhaps at least a flashlight if nothing else. When I opened the door, a bundle of papers and several metallic objects spilled out into the passenger seat floor.

At the top of the pile was a 9 mm. Glock handgun.

I had seen it before; I should have been expecting it. Hell, I was the one that insisted she carry it around. After I left home, I worried about Mom and her safety. I knew she probably wouldn't find herself in any mortal trouble, but growing up as the only man in the house, I always felt it was my duty to be the protector. I knew she wouldn't need it, but still, I wanted her to have it for my piece of mind as much as hers. But it being here surprised me. Given how scared she had sounded over the phone, I thought Mom would have surely taken it with her.

The sight of the gun was almost a relief, but at the same time it made me uneasy. Nothing that had happened so far would have led me to believe that there was anything particularly dangerous about Silent Hill, but that faint inkling of unease in the back of my mind said otherwise, no matter what my other five senses told me. At that moment, the gun seemed to me like a life preserver thrown to a drifting man bobbing helplessly in a tumultuous sea. In my heart of hearts, I knew it wouldn't do a damn thing to help me, but if latching onto that cold, lifeless piece of metal could calm my nerves if only for a scant few moments, it was more precious than gold.

I snatched up the gun and stuffed stuffed it into the back of my pants before sifting through the rest of the glove box's contents. In addition to a spare clip, I also found the flashlight I'd been searching for, and what looked to be a map. Picking it up, I realized it was a map of Silent Hill. There were no extraneous markings, just a series of streets and geographical features. I looked it over, searching for the main highway to figure out where I was in relation to the town.

I found it, just north of the town proper, and located what must have been the rest stop shortly there after. The strange thing was that the map indicated the highway should curve around and head straight into town, but it definitely didn't; however, the map did indicate that there should have been a trail nearby that skirted the lake and led into town. If it was correct, I should have been able to get into town that way. By the looks of things, that was the way Mom had gone too, so that route would be my best bet.

I shoved the map into my back pocket and stepped out of the car, thumbing on the flashlight. I approached the forest's edge behind the rest area, playing my light across the area in search of the promised path.

Sure enough, there it was: a set of weathered stone steps leading off into the mist-enshrouded pines. A momentary twinge of apprehension seized me, but I forced it down and swallowed the lump in my throat, forging through the fear fermenting in the pit of my stomach as I stepped onto the stone path and headed into the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N. Hey everybody. I'm sorry this update was so late in coming, but with real life shit to deal with, it's kind of hard to focus on writing a story; however, this one is coming along nicely. I intended this chapter to be longer, and I may in fact add to it later on, but I thought I really needed to update since it's been so long. One of the problems I have with this story is I don't have it planned out the way I want. I have sort of a vague idea for a start, but not much of a middle, and hardly an end. That's where a lot of fanfiction stories go wrong, because the beginning starts out really well, and then it drops off because the author has a hard time continuing the plot. Well, after this chapter is posted, what I am going to concentrate on is planning this thing out to a T, going over all the plot hooks, character designs, descriptions, interweaving of themes, etc. I find that after something has been planned out well, writing it seems so much more fluid. Anyway, my point is that I need someone or someones to bounce ideas off of in order to construct my overall plot. If there are any volunteers out there who would like to help me scheme and get this thing in working order, I would really really appreciate the help. Please e-mail me at if you're interested, and as always, enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

The thick pine boughs formed a near-impenetrable canopy above me, their needled arms swaying languidly in the fog-shrouded breeze. I followed the worn stone path deeper into the forest, my flashlight playing back and forth like bloodhound trying to sniff out a break in the unfathomable depths of fog before me. It felt surreal, like I was somehow swimming through a cloud.

Soon the gentle sound of water lapping against shore reached my ears. For some reason, it seemed to sooth my nerves, allowing me to concentrate on something else other than the pounding of my own heart. With the decrepit stone path winding its weed-filled length through that seemingly interminable forest, I began to wonder if I had been going anywhere at all, if I wasn't simply walking around in circles on a path that led to nowhere; but that ghostly water, it steadied me, locked me on course in the knowledge that something did lay before me, something that I couldn't help but feel would become a catalyst to change my life forever.

The path began curve, no doubt skirting the lake as the map had promised. I never got more than a shimmering glimpse of its waters before the ever-present fog swallowed it up once more, but I didn't dare move off the path to investigate. You can call it an irrational fear, but for some reason I was afraid that if I ever lost sight of that path, I might never find it again. It was my tenuous life line to something substantial, something other than those mist-shrouded woods. I wasn't about to let it out of my sight. Then with a shiver I quickened my pace, hoping to reach my destination before long.

I got my wish soon enough. Looming out of the fog, I spied the first real break in wooded monotony since stepped onto the stone trail. A decrepit wrought iron fence stretched out on either side of the path, its rusted struts haphazardly poking from the ground like many pairs of skeletal hands groping their way free of the earth. The gate canted to its side, hanging ajar with untended care as if to say no one had bothered to pass through its breadth for some time.

Despite the little voice in the back of my mind screaming at me that this was a _very_ bad idea, I slowly walked up to gate and reached out with a tentative hand, feeling the rusted and pitted metal under my palm as I wrapped my fingers around the handle. I gave a great pull, wrenching the gate open with an accompanying screech of rusted metal on metal that split the eerily calm night like an animalistic howl. Beyond the gate, the ground was covered with an overgrown layer of grass. Small gray monoliths in various states of disrepair protruded upward from the unruly tufts of gray-green grass in a regular pattern, making me feel like the forgotten chaos around me was somehow planned. Then I realized that in fact it was. This wasn't just some forgotten plot of ground deep in the Midwestern woods. It was a cemetery.

It seemed somehow fitting, given the way my night had been going, and though I kept telling myself that there was nothing to be afraid of, I couldn't quite convince myself of that fact. I was dead scared. I had this ridiculous notion that I had walked straight into one those hokey zombie movies. You know the kind, where one of the main characters—the stupid one, mind you—stumbles into a churchyard one lonely night and suddenly finds himself surrounded by rotten and decaying corpses climbing out of their graves, all of them intent upon making him their next meal. Of course, it was ridiculous. I had nothing to fear from zombies. The walking dead can't hold a candle to the real horror of Silent Hill: the truth.

Like a snake slithering its way through an untended yard, a narrow path lead from the gate and wound through the overgrown cemetery to disappear somewhere off in the fog. Once more I contemplated going back, but I couldn't. Upon reflection, I doubt it would have made any difference. Silent Hill already had me, and it wasn't going to let go until it had finished with me. So with nothing left to do, I took a deep breath and set foot onto the winding trail.

I walked on, clutching the flashlight in my hand like a castaway holds onto a life preserver in a storm ravaged ocean, but then something ahead caught my eye: a glow of light from beyond the fog. I quickened my steps, pushing my way past overgrown weeds and crumbling tombstones in my haste to reach that tentative light. I don't really know what I was expecting; maybe a street light, or a groundskeeper's hut, but what I found defied expectations. Resting on the ground before a glossy gray edifice sat a thick candle, its feeble flame flickering lazily in the foggy night air. Unlike the rest of the soil around it, however, this plot of earth had been freshly upturned, and the growth of weeds and grass had not yet overtaken its bounds.

I peered at the headstone, raising my flashlight to play its light across the inscription upon the face of granite. The name _Michael McKinney_ stood out in bold letters, and located beneath it were the dates _1962-1979_. I briefly wondered why this grave looked so fresh, why the tombstone still had a gloss of newness upon it, but then my eyes fell upon the rest of the inscription. It read, _Thou sufferest the woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols. I gave her space to repent of her fornication, and she repented not. Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation. I will kill her children with death, and all the churches shall know that I am He which searcheth the reins and hearts. _

I shuddered. This wasn't something that belonged on a tombstone. It sounded like an executioner pronouncing his victim's death, not a tender remembrance of a departed loved one. And what's more, it sounded familiar, almost Biblical, though I couldn't recall where I'd heard it.

I looked around, feeling decidedly uneasy standing before that baleful headstone. But then something sounded in the distance, like someone walking through the grass.

"Hello?" I called out in typical horror-movie fashion, shining my flashlight out into the darkness.

The noise stopped as if the person paused, and then it came back with renewed fervor as the unseen figure took off in the other direction.

"Wait!" I called, taking off down the path after him.

Now as I look back on it, this all seems really silly—running headlong after a faint sound in the distance, but at that moment in time I didn't quite care. The most frightening part of my journey thus far was that I had been alone in it all. I just wanted to find someone else—I didn't care who, just another human being to share in my plight, to assuage my fears that only the dead and damned still dwelt in this morass of decrepit squalor. I just didn't want to be alone. So as foolish as it may sound, I raced off into the unknown, heedless of the dangers that awaited me in that maze of fog and filth known as Silent Hill.


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: Well, I know it's been quite a while, but I'm trying to finish my Star Wars: Shades of Gray fic in addition to planning this, so it's kind of slow going. I hate it when projects pull you in different directions, but I'm sure most of you understand. Anyway, I felt like the last chapter needed to be longer, and I had this one planned out anyway, so I figured that I would go ahead this one. All I can really say, is I hope you all enjoy it. As always, any and all comments are welcome.)

**Chapter 4**

The long wet grasses whipped by my churning legs as I dodged between headstones, forgetting the cryptic message left behind as I doggedly pursued the crashing sound ahead of me. Soon enough, the noise ahead was swallowed up by my own thrashing, but even without that din as a guide I kept up my single-minded pursuit.

Suddenly out of the fog loomed a pair of massive dark shapes. I stumbled to a walk, my breath coming in frantic pants that left small puffs of mist hanging in the hazy night air. The grasses had begun to thin out, and as I drew closer, I saw that the shapes I had previously seen were a pair of huge hedge rows framing a weed-strewn cobblestone trail that stretched off into the fog.

Now, I don't know if I've mentioned it yet or not, but let me give you a little insight into what it was like there—standing there, my breath coming in ever-steadying pants with beads of sweat burgeoning along my brow despite the cold night air. Have you ever been in the woods at night, or really anywhere for that matter, and everything suddenly goes _dead_ quiet? Well that's what it was like—no crickets, no owls, no scurrying sounds somewhere off in the underbrush, _nothing_ except the sound of my own frantic breathing.

So as I stood with my back to the cemetery with this growing sense of dread fermenting in the back of my mind, I suddenly had the feeling that I did _not_ want to be there. Wrapping my arms around myself to help stave off the growing cold, I cautiously stepped upon the cobblestone path.

The framing hedges were soon replaced by a covered walkway of overgrown lattice work. The ivy that had once been purely decorative had overtaken its bounds, turning the walkway into a veritable tunnel of withered vines. I grimaced as I picked up the scent of decaying vegetation, but pressed on anyway, pushing aside the vines hanging in my way as I started through the overgrown walkway.

I halfway expected some rotting hand to reach through the lattice work, grab my collar, and haul me into a mass of writhing vines like some cheesy horror movie, but fortunately for my pounding heart, it didn't happen. I emerged on the other side, still swimming in thick fog, but with a whole new scene to wonder at.

The cobblestone steps beneath me had been replaced by concrete hemmed in by a combination of wrought iron fence and overgrown hedge work. At the center of it all lay a rectangular pond reminiscent of the one on the lawn of the Lincoln Memorial. At the head of this one, however, stood a stark white obelisk nearly fifteen feet high. Most startling though, was the figure that stood before the monument, his hands shoved into the pockets of his corduroy jacket.

He was dressed in worn blue jeans and an equally well-used pair of white tennis shoes. A tangle of blonde hair spilled out from under the Chicago Cubs baseball cap perched on his head, and even though his face was turned away from me, I could glimpse the tip of a cigarette clasped between his lips.

"Um, excuse me?" I asked tentatively.

"Huh?" He turned, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and quickly dropping it to the ground. He hastily ground the embers into the concrete, turning to look in my direction.

His face was squarish, but not overly so. He had the look of an athlete to him, but the faint stubble on his face made gave him the appearance of a teenager trying to look older—which I suppose he was. He looked about sixteen or seventeen—eighteen at the most. Upon seeing me he sighed, shoving his hands back into his pockets "Oh . . . sorry," he muttered, disinterestedly turning back toward the monument, "I thought you were someone else."

I slipped my hands into my pockets as well, taking a few steps forward toward him. "Are you from around here?" I asked, casting a doubtful glance around the decrepit lawn.

"You could say that," he said, still looking up at the monument.

"What do you mean?" I pressed, walking closer.

He sighed and turned back toward me. "I mean that I grew up here. It's been a few years since I last saw it, but yeah. I'm from around here."

"Is the town deserted or something? It doesn't look like anyone has lived here for years."

He shrugged, not meeting my gaze, "Yeah, more or less. The only people who live here anymore are too stuck in their ways to go anywhere else."

"Well, ah, I'm John," I said hesitantly. "It's good to meet you . . . " I trailed off, expecting him to fill the rest in with his name.

"Mike," he said simply.

Silence descended over the both of us as he looked back at the obelisk.

Finally I broke the silence. "Well . . . what are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for someone," he said, still looking at the monument.

"Who?"

"A girl I used to know . . . Jo."

My breath caught in my throat as my mind reeled. Jo. Joanna. My mother. But could this 'Mike' have really known my mother? If he had grown up in Silent Hill, it surely would have had to have been after my mother had left, wouldn't it? It didn't make sense. I couldn't be the same person. Still, I had to ask.

"Um, this girl—Jo—how old is she?"

"Sixteen," he replied evenly.

I sighed, both relieved and disappointed at the same time. "I'm here looking someone too."

He shrugged. "People are always in search of something when they come here. It's been that way as long as I can remember. It's just something about this place."

"Well, maybe we could look for them together. I mean, two heads should be better than one, right?" I gave a nervous laugh, "Anyway, this place kinda gives me the creeps. I could do with some company."

Mike was silent a moment before shaking his head. "No, this is something I have to do by myself."

I frowned in confusion. "Well, if—"

He shook his head again, cutting me off, "Just trust me. No."

"Well okay, but—"

"Listen, I've got to get going"

"Well, it was good meeting you, I guess."

"Same," he said, turning away from me and heading off into the fog.

"Wait, where are you going?" I called after him.

He just shrugged, "I don't really know, but I will when I get there." With that, he slipped into the fog and disappeared from view.

So I was alone again. I had met perhaps the only person left in Silent Hill—probably the only person who knew the town well enough to help my find my mother—and I let him walk off into the fog without the slightest protest.

I sighed and walked over to the obelisk monument, wondering slightly what Matt had found so interesting in its worn stone edifice. Smatterings of moss grew in between the cracks of some of the blocks, and the lower portion of the monument had been covered with a layer of rusty brown lichens. The plaque at the base, however, had escaped most of the vegetative onslaught. It read: _"In memoriam of the young men of our town who lost their lives and their youths on the distant battlefield of __Vietnam__, the citizens of Silent Hill dedicate this memorial so that their sacrifices may never be forgotten."_

I raised an eyebrow curiously, wondering what Mike had found so interesting about the monument. Perhaps his father had died in the war, I mused, but as I tried to crunch the numbers in my head, they just didn't add up. Unless he was a _lot_ older than his young face implied, his father couldn't have died back in that conflict. So what then, perhaps another relative? A grandfather or uncle? Whatever the answer, it didn't matter. Mike was right. He had his own demons to face, and I had mine.

I turned to go, but a glint of something metallic at the base of the obelisk caught my eye. I stooped forward, looking for whatever I had seen. I found it in the form of a set of keys lying in the gravel before the monument. I picked them up, examining them as I turned the set over in my palm.

There were two brass keys on the loop and a green rubber key chain in the shape of a football. The white lettering on the keychain had rubbed off in some places, but I could make out the words "Midwich High School." Squinting at the keys, I could make out similar lettering engraved into the base of both. Were these keys to the town's school? And if so, where the hell did they come from? Did Mike drop them?

As I thought about it, that seemed to be the only solution that made sense. Perhaps he had been on his way to the school and dropped the keys somehow. It made sense to me, seeing as how he was about the right age for high school. What didn't make sense was why he would be running to a high school in the dead of night in a town that looked as if it hadn't seen regular inhabitants for years—but that really didn't dawn on me at the time. Perhaps I was kind of numb from everything that had already happened this night, but really I think my mind just sort of locked out such thoughts. I was just looking for some kind of company to stave off the forlorn loneliness that seemed to inhabit this place.

I stuffed the keys into my jacket pocket and pulled out the map I found in my mother's car. I knew I had seen something on the map that looked like a football field, and I hoped that it was somehow attached to the rumored high school. Sure enough, I found it. What's more, it was relatively close by. I tried as best I could to commit some of the street names to memory and then folded the map up once more. After stuffing the map into my back pocket, I set off in the direction Mike had gone, hoping that I could catch up with him before he got to there.


End file.
